


After the Festival - Bilbo

by AnonymousSong, lily_winterwood



Series: The Quest for Erebor [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Time, Liveblog tie-in, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 18:04:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4886482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousSong/pseuds/AnonymousSong, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_winterwood/pseuds/lily_winterwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had all of what just happened really happened? Though Thorin now lies asleep besides me, sweaty yet content and very, <i>very</i> naked, I still wonder if all of this wasn’t the product of some wild fever-induced hallucination brought on by my terrible cold.  </p><p>Perhaps it would do me some good to revisit what happened, so that I can make sure that all of it was real, that it had really happened, and to me of all people.</p><p>(<a href="http://quiterespectablyyours.tumblr.com">quiterespectablyyours</a>'s side of what happened at Lake-town after the Lantern Festival)</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Festival - Bilbo

Had all of what just happened really happened? Though Thorin now lies asleep besides me, sweaty yet content and very, _very_ naked, I still wonder if all of this wasn’t the product of some wild fever-induced hallucination brought on by my terrible cold.  

Perhaps it would do me some good to revisit what happened, so that I can make sure that all of it was real, that it had really happened, and to me of all people. I know Thorin is fond of me, that he wants to make our courtship official, and that he is, in spite of his inexperience and his Quest, attracted physically to me. The last one was a gradual shifting of attraction, I know, stemming from our nights sharing bedrolls and straw pallets in Mirkwood. Though he would declare it the height of madness now, there was a time in which he did not desire me as much as he does now.

And there, too, had once been a time in which I did not nearly fancy him as much as I do now, when I had not sighed over the softness of his hair shining silver in the moonlight and longed to kiss his tanned skin as it was exposed to me inch by inch in the light of the hearth. It seems almost preposterous now that the Bilbo Baggins who ran out of Bag End to Bywater at ten forty five in the morning on a nice spring day would not have even entertained the idea of kissing a Dwarf-king, let alone let said Dwarf-king claim him wholly.

But this Bilbo Baggins did.

We had somehow managed to leave the festivities and get back to my room at the house without alerting too many members of the Company, though I think I heard Balin snort at us as we made our way up the stairs, pausing for kisses as we went. From there it was impressive that we managed to get down the landing to my room at all, especially given how I’d fairly tackled him once the door was closed between us and the hallway.

I’m sure neither of us had been drinking that night, as Thorin had been by my side for most of the evening and had not touched any sort of wine or ale during the festival. But I suppose for me at least there was no need for alcohol when Thorin himself was so intoxicating. His kisses left me stumbling drunkenly after him; the sight of his body when it was finally bared to me was something I drank in like a weary Southron traveller at a riverbank.

With fingers fumbling from overeagerness and soft brushes that ended with laughter, we discarded each other’s clothes. When Thorin finally made away with my smallclothes he would not cease worshipping me, pressing me down onto the bed and praising me in words and touches and kisses alike, until he reached where I needed him most, and paused.

“I have never done this before,” he said quietly, his voice low, husky. It sent shivers down my spine, and not because of his inexperience.

“I gathered as much, considering I’ve been the only exception to your… like stone-ness.” I felt tongue-tied as I looked up at him, the hearth-fire turning his tanned skin into bronze. I longed to reach out, to touch every inch of him. Even previous romps in the hay with other Shire-folk have never produced this much heat and yearning inside me, as if I was being reforged in the flames of his affection.

“I fear I may not please you,” he admitted, and it made me laugh, as he pleased me simply by being there. He may be broad and muscular and covered in hair practically everywhere except his feet (which I found fascinating) but there was a vulnerability I had never seen before in his cornflower eyes and it was endlessly endearing.

“My dear silly Dwarf,” I said, “you can’t be expected to know how to please someone on your first go. I don’t expect you to have been an expert in smithing the first time you entered a forge, so don’t fret so much about this, all right? I’ve got you.”

“You have experience in this?” echoed Thorin, and I pursed my lips at the note of hurt in his voice. I know Dwarves often equated physical relations with engagements, and only ever had one marriage in their lives, but Thorin had no right to expect the same from Hobbits.

“Of course I do,” I said, and I couldn’t help the note of defensiveness in my own voice. “I lost interest after I came of age and my parents died, but my tween years were full of explorations. That’s how you learn to please someone, Thorin. You practise.”

He did not say anything for a moment after that, and then shook his head. “Forgive me, Bilbo, I seem to have angered you.”

“I’m not angry, dear,” I said, as I wasn’t _really_ that annoyed with him, just a little wary of his tone. “Now, if we’re ever going to get this started, I suppose the best thing to do is to become acquainted with each other’s bodies, don’t you think?” I reached out and took his hand, resting it on my hip. “Please touch me, Thorin,” I instructed, and moments later my breath was stolen as he trailed his finger along my hips until it brushed against the tip of my cock.

Oh Sweet Giver, it is so embarrassing to talk of one’s own body in such a way, even if it’s for personal recollection. I feel as if I am writing one of those filthy romances that Mum used to hide in the nightstand with her scented oils, and it makes the entire thing seem even less real, as if I have constructed the entire encounter from my imagination and am now writing it down as if I am recording a half-remembered dream.

But I don’t think I could only ever _half_ -remember the feeling of Thorin’s hand curling around my cock, his eyes wide as he touched me. I suppose sometimes even people who are like stone must acquaint themselves with their own bodies, and on this front Thorin must have had some experience, as his movements were not so much fumbling as experimental. His hands, almost large enough to engulf my cock, were rough and calloused, but the way he moved felt far too good. It took a great deal of my self-control not to spill like a tween on his first romp when he figured out the rhythm and movements that I liked best.

I eventually had to convince him to stop and let me return the favour, as I itched to touch him, longed to drive him to the very edge of pleasure as he had done for me. It’s been a while since I had had such an encounter, but already Thorin was surpassing any tumbles I had had in my tweens. I don’t remember ever wanting someone so badly, wanting to please them, to set them at ease, to make them scream my name as much as I wanted Thorin to do it.

With a bit of coaxing, I managed to get Thorin lying back on the bed, settling between his legs. For a moment I was content to just look at him, my eyes feasting on his furred chest, his broad shoulders, the soft content smile gracing his lips. Slowly I reached out to touch him, fingers and lips returning the favours that he had showered upon me.

Eventually I made it across the planes of Thorin’s stomach (where I distinctly remember thinking that he was far too skinny from a hard life on the road, and if I were ever to get a nice kitchen in Erebor or convince him to return to the Shire with me, I would set about turning him a little softer) and, with my lips just above the trail of soft dark hairs that crowned his cock, I breathed:

“May I?”

“Please,” he said, and the sound of that lovely voice begging me sent a bolt of fire through me, bright and heady.

I took him into my mouth, recalling my previous experiences behind barns and in haylofts, both giving and receiving. As I worked my mouth around his cock, which was a bit wider than what I used to work with, I realised very quickly and to some degree of embarrassed affection that Thorin was a surprisingly vocal lover. I had tried my best to be receptive when he was pleasing me, because feedback is important and he was doing such a lovely job for someone inexperienced in bedroom affairs. But he was so much more effusive with his reactions when I returned the favour; he tangled his fingers in my hair, he arched his lovely neck, still mottled from my love-bites, and moaned my name with a desperation that caused the tips of my ears to burn. I don’t think I’ve ever had any partner before who desired me so much, who could be driven wild even by the lightest of kisses between their legs. I could feel my heart blooming more and more with each new affirmation, each low utterance of my name, each tightening of his fingers in my hair.

Oh Giver, all the things I could teach him! All the things I wanted to explore with him, all the things I wanted to do to him, all the things I wanted him to do to me — but I couldn’t overwhelm him in one night. I had to take it slow like all other aspects of our courtship. And if all goes well at Erebor, we may very well have the rest of our lives to explore one another.

Thorin begged me again. “Please,” he murmured, and then stilled my head as he pulled his cock from my mouth, still trailing a sliver of saliva from my attentions.

“What do you want to do next?” I breathed, and he responded by pulling me up for a kiss, and I wondered if he could taste himself on my tongue just yet.

“I need to feel you,” he murmured, his voice even lower than I remembered.

We shifted again so that I was sitting astride him and he was leaning against the headboard of the bed, peppering lovely soft kisses along my shoulders and neck as I took both of us in hand. And in between my strokes and the rub and press of our bodies against one another, I lost all sense of time and language, the world narrowing into just the two of us and the incoherent but delightful moans that Thorin tried his best to muffle against my skin. I think at some point he lost his grasp of Common and went to Khuzdul instead, and I don’t think I’ve ever found the language so beautiful as when it came rumbling out of Thorin’s throat in the throes of pleasure.

I am sure I managed to see stars when I came, and I can only hope he felt the same when he followed shortly after, collapsing heavily against the pillows and looking up at me with such adoration in his eyes that my heart swelled until I was surprised it didn’t burst in my chest.

We managed to clean up as best we could, but now the room smells of sex and I’m sure by the entire house has heard Thorin screaming my name. It’s not going to be easy to face the Company now knowing all of them were privy to such sounds, but as long as I can remember what happened and know with perfect clarity that it was not a product of my imagination, I think I will find the courage to tell the Company that Thorin and I are now officially courting.

Giver give me strength.


End file.
